Monday, July 30, 2012

inside of sonny rollin's sax



Although I do not often think of it
it strikes me that everything I do not taste
and I would not dream of tasting
undoubtedly has a flavor
and even if I forget it
the flavor waits patiently
to be tasted.  It hides
over and inside of everything, fitting
anywhere cozily alongside smells
and particles of light.

And speaking of patience
there was a moth in the bathroom
stall that I chose yesterday at four,
and when I returned at six
to use it again, the moth was frozen
still to the linoleum wall like a Pompeiian dog
and I thought it was dead,
but I hoped,
and I gently sent a difibrillating finger toward it. 
It was disturbed preemptively by the air
that I had disturbed near its back
and before my finger
reached the moth it groggily flew
into the screen of the bathroom window.
Immovable but so movable,
I think that moth could have lived forever
uninterrupted on that tile
if I hadn’t come back intent on breaking
its concentration.

I saw a girl today
who choked on a mouthful of gnats
when she carelessly laughed outside
near twilight, and I
fancied in that moment
gnats the unmelting snowflakes of the summer
always in front of me
and when one disappears I notice
ten others falling, in my hair
and in the back of my shirt
and at the mercy of the wind
but heedless of my wishes
but I bet if I wanted I could catch one
on my tongue.  It seemed easy enough then.

And I wondered then about you
and I got the strangest feeling
like I was locked in the trunk of your car
like in that video
the Travis video
and it felt like pouring rain
but it was scorching outside
is everything here make believe
if I could catch you on my tongue
and hold you inside and let you dissolve.
Or how fixedly would you wait or what stray wind
would claim you if I did not.